


defenestration (n. a throwing of a person or thing out of a window)

by dedougal



Series: Words Are Overrated [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's always climbing in his window. Only makes sense that Stiles would return the favor one of these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	defenestration (n. a throwing of a person or thing out of a window)

**Author's Note:**

> For Mithrel.

Derek has crawled through his window so often that Stiles didn’t really think Derek had any call to pin him to the wall and breathe heavily and threateningly at him when he just returned the favor. Sure it was the middle of the night. Sure he probably should have used the front door. But Stiles hadn’t wanted to wake up anyone else who might have been in the house and he’d spotted Derek’s half open window and it had seemed like a good plan at the time. There was enough light from the moon to make the climb easy enough.

Stiles would be explaining all this if Derek wasn’t pressed up against him, weight of his body cutting off his air. Stiles still had enough of an airway left to breathe in Derek – leather, dirt, dark smoke and something that he liked to call spice. It made him lean in, want to drink it in. He wondered if Derek had the same reaction to him sometimes, given the number of times he pinned Stiles to surfaces and got all up in his face. That could just be the threatening thing.

Derek pulled back, letting Stiles breath for a moment. “Stiles.” It was question, threat and resignation all in one loaded word.

“Do you smell so nice to other wolves? Like does Scott sniff you and make happy noises?” Stiles wondered where his sense of self-preservation had gone. Derek glared and Stiles finally dropped his eyes in shame. Which caused another problem. Sure Stiles had seen Derek shirtless on any number of occasions. He had this theory about Derek’s skin being unable to tolerate cloth because of the heat he gave off. It had to be an allergy. But apparently the cloth allergy extended to the rest of his body now that the house had become less of a demolition job and more watertight again. Because Derek was totally, utterly, no doubt about it, naked.

Stiles dragged his eyes up. It took effort. He had to physically lift his hands and move his head because his eyes were stuck on, well, Derek’s cock. His thick, definitely nothing to be ashamed of, cock. Stiles was never like this in the locker room. He didn’t have difficultly looking away from the cut of another guy’s groin, the way his treasure trail led down like some kind of path laid out for Stiles to trip down. He definitely didn’t fixate on the defined muscles in his thighs. Derek was completely comfortable with his nakedness. He just wasn’t comfortable with Stiles being the one looking at his nakedness – he had his arms crossed across his chest (biceps, triceps, deltoids…) and was glaring. The glaring was the only thing Stiles really had any resistance against.

“Hi.” Stiles tried again. His voice was thin and strangled and sounded like it was coming from somewhere miles away. Like from New England. Or actual England.

“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek turned away and Stiles wasn’t strong enough not to watch the you’ve got to be fucking kidding perfection of the curve of Derek’s ass. Then he nearly wept as Derek pulled on a pair of soft, battered jeans (no underwear) and sat on the edge of his bed.

But Stiles’ mind wasn’t ready to move on. His mind wasn’t ready to move on quite a lot these days. In the shower, for example. Or his bed. That one time in Chemistry when he’d been extra careful not to be called on or moved. “Laundry day?” 

“You climbed in my window in the middle of the night to ask about laundry?” Derek’s eyes were unreadable in the dark room. Maybe Stiles should have knocked. But he hadn’t wanted to- 

“No. I wouldn’t do that.” Stiles shook his head. “I didn’t know you’d be naked.”

“You climbed in my window to see if I was naked?” There was a brief flash of teeth that might have been a smile. Or, you know, a threat to bite.

“I used to climb in Scott’s window all the time before there was a real possibility he might be naked.” Stiles couldn’t stop. His mouth was running away with him. “I didn’t want to see him naked.”

“Stiles.” It was quite incredible how many ways Derek could say his name. Angry. Pleading. Demanding. Teasing…

“My dad came home with some…pictures. A couple are missing – college students – and Beacon Hills was the last place they were seen and he found- Well. Pictures.” Stiles fished in his pocket and drew out the rolled up envelope. “You might know something that could help.”

Derek leaned over and flicked on his bedside light. Stiles had to come closer to hand over the envelope which meant he was closer to Derek’s bed and closer to all that naked skin. Derek was so focused on the photographs that he wouldn’t notice Stiles using the advantage of the light to just work out that Derek hadn’t fastened his jeans. He’d just shrugged them on. And it wouldn’t take much to get them off again and Stiles really shouldn’t be thinking about that and it’s not his fault if his cock stirs a little and…

Oh shit. Derek can probably smell that.

Stiles tried stuffing his hands into his hoodie to make sure it covered his crotch but Derek looked up, eyebrow arching. “Something new you want to share?”

That was when his goldfish impression came in really handy. Stiles could just let his mouth hang open and close it and not really have to say anything. Derek stopped teetering on the edge of amused and looked back at the photos. “I should run these past Peter. I don’t know. There’s something familiar-“ Derek shook his head.

“Now?” Stiles looked over to the door that led to the rest of the house. He really didn’t want to have a run in with Peter Hale on his own turf in the middle of the night. Peter made him feel like he was giving away too much. All the time. Peter could read him like a twenty foot neon sign.

“I’ll go.” Derek scrabbled at his sheets to find a t-shirt which he forced on, inside out and back to front. Stiles wanted to laugh, wanted to mock, but Derek looked forbidding. “Stay.”

“I’m supposed to be the one giving the orders like that. Stay. Sit. Roll over.” Derek flung him another meaningful look that Stiles understood to mean shut up. He felt like an idiot standing in the middle of Derek’s bedroom and it felt… Okay. Stiles knew he liked to be a little bit nosy but it felt like too much of an invasion to poke around in Derek’s drawers. Nothing about lying down on Derek’s bed, seeing if his smell lingered in the sheets, checking out what was lying on the nightstand. Derek’s bed was comfortable, just firm enough, and Stiles scooted around until he was lying back, more settled. It was the middle of the night. He did need to sleep. Maybe he could sleep here.

“Peter says he’s going to check his whatever.” Derek looked down at Stiles from the side of his bed, arms folded again. It made his chest look great. “I’ll come over in the morning.”

That was probably a cue for something but Stiles didn’t know what. He was too busy staring at the flex of Derek’s muscles, the path that led inevitably to the open vee of Derek’s jeans. Even ducking down to looking at his innocently bare feet had Stiles thinking about size and proportionality and whether Derek was a shower or a grower. “I should wait.”

“You should go.” There was something forbidding in Derek’s voice now. Stiles thought about moving but there was something Derek wasn’t saying. He was hiding in anger again.

Stiles smiled up at him. He knew how to smile at authority figures with just the right amount of insolence to drive them absolutely insane. He had practice. Derek wasn’t quite in the same league of studied ennui as some of his teachers and he twitched quite effectively, eyebrows drawing together. Stiles cut off his incipient demand with, “You never answered my question.”

“Stiles.” Warning. Threatening. Pleading.

“What do the others smell? Because Scott talks about smelling blood and – eurgh – he must smell it when Allison is, well, time of the- That’s disgusting.” Stiles actually stopped talking long enough to force his stomach to stay put and not crawl out of his throat like it was threatening to. “Nice smells too? As well as bad ones.”

“Yes. They smell like pack. Because that’s what they are.” The words were forced out from gritted teeth but, again, Stiles was totally accustomed.

“And that’s nice. Pleasant. So what about me? What do I smell like?” Of course that was when Derek decided to move, leaning over him, body close and warm. Stiles looked up at him, spotting the creases from his pillow in his cheek, the way his hair was sticking up. Derek pressed down, drawing in a deep breath.

“You smell like someone who should be home in his own bed.” Derek stayed put for a moment though, preventing Stiles from moving. “Use the door. I don’t want you to kill yourself crawling out the window.” For some reason Derek’s voice was quieter now. Softer. Maybe creeping into the vicinity of a whisper.

“Because that’s what’s likely to kill me. Not the insane amount of supernatural creatures I surround myself with.” Stiles kept his voice low. It was almost intimate, lying together, voluntarily for once, close and together. On a bed. Together. Just the two of them. Derek was close enough that Stiles could see the tremble in his arms where he was holding himself up, see the flare in his nostrils as he no doubt picked up on the parts of Stiles that were responding the warm heaviness of another body against his.

No. Not the warm heaviness of another body. That was a complete crock of shit. He was getting turned on by Derek and there was nothing he could do, no hiding place. There were a number of things he could do. He could push Derek off. It wouldn’t move him but maybe Derek would take a hint. He could claim to be thinking about Lydia. Or Erica. Or Lydia and Erica (Stiles thought about Lydia and Erica and his mind wiped it out and replaced it with Derek. Naked. In front of him). He could laugh this off. But his mind was stuck in goldfish mode again, a three second loop of Derek, here, naked, Derek.

Later on, Stiles would always claim he was the first one to make a move, possible to claw back some of his sadly lacking dignity. Derek would let him. But in this moment Stiles couldn’t tell who moved first. He knew that one moment he was watching Derek and the next they were kissing. It started gentle – Derek’s mouth was soft, brushing over Stiles’, testing hesitantly. It wasn’t all rarr and alpha and that was strange. So Stiles tried kissing back hard, pushing up, only to be flattened to the pillows and Derek’s tongue demanding entrance, licking across the seam of his mouth, hands suddenly taking advantage, riding up and down Stiles’ sides, tugging at his clothes like they offended. This was where Stiles definitely had the better end of the bargain. His hands were under Derek’s back-side-forward t-shirt quicker than he could will them to move, smoothing over skin that was hard muscle and velvet and so damn fucking hot.

Derek whispered his name, a pant, a groan of, “Stiles.” It sounded different – Derek sounded wrecked, as he rocked his hips against Stiles. Derek was hard, rock hard. His jeans were slipping off and Stiles could reach down, slide his hands inside those loosened pants and grab at Derek’s ass, bare and intimate and hard for him, for Stiles Stilinski and didn’t that just take the biscuit. 

White noise blocked out everything but Derek and the pressure of his thighs and his triumphant hands that were finally pushing up Stiles’ shirts and holding him like something precious that might fall apart any minute and something that was never, ever getting away. Stiles let his hands go where they wanted, pulling Derek towards him, harder, faster, a better angle for Stiles to rut and moan. Their kissing descended into mouthing, frantic, frenzied at each other until Stiles finally broke, shuddering with an overwhelming orgasm. Derek rolled against him, an unstoppable wave, crashing against Stiles moments later. It was sticky and messy and amazing. 

The knock at the door was unexpected and shocking. Derek tore to the door, opening it a crack while Stiles brought his fingers to his lips. His mouth felt bruised, swollen. Used. He liked it. His face felt sore, raw, scraped and every nerve was on fire. Maybe he should strip off. Or put the light off. If he could move. And Stiles did not want to move. Unless it was Derek moving him, manhandling him, and yeah, that was definitely within the parameters of more than acceptable.

“We need to go. The Sheriff could be heading into a trap.” Derek pulled his shirt off, tossing it aside and heading for his dresser.

Stiles watched until the words sunk in. Then he clambered to his feet, panic forcing him up as Derek put on one of his henleys, arms moving jerkily, anxious. By the time Derek had shoved his feet into boots and grabbed his coat, Stiles was already moving towards the door. A momentary dislocation took place and he was pressed up against it, Derek slamming him into solid upright surfaces again. This time the movement was accompanied by a sudden, unexpected, hard kiss. 

“Save my dad now, make out later?” Stiles had his priorities straight. Or not straight. Right. 

Derek pulled the door open, all Alpha again, and pulled Stiles after him. Derek hadn’t said no.


End file.
